Chapter 42
After the sisters had returned to the garden and finished their meal, they each went their separate ways, with nothing of particular note to relate.
Now Granny Liu, taking Ban’er with her, went first to see Xifeng. “Tomorrow at dawn I really must go home,” she said. “Though I’ve only stayed two or three days, it hasn’t been long—yet I’ve seen, eaten, and heard things I never did in all my life. It’s been so kind of the Old Lady, of you, young mistress, and of all the young ladies and maids in every chamber, to show such pity for the poor and respect for the aged, and to look after me so well. When I go back, I have no other way to repay you but to burn the finest incense and recite Buddha’s name for you every day, praying that you all live to a hundred—that’s the best I can do.” Xifeng laughed, “Don’t be too pleased. It’s all because of you that the Old Lady caught a chill from the wind and is now lying down feeling unwell; and our little大姐儿 has also caught cold and has a fever.” Granny Liu sighed, “The Old Lady is advanced in years—she’s not used to so much exertion.” Xifeng said, “She’s never been as merry as she was yesterday. Usually when she goes into the garden, she sits in one or two spots and comes back. But yesterday, because you were here, she wanted to show you around, and we walked through more than half the garden. As for little大姐儿, she came looking for me, and Her Ladyship gave her a cake—but she ate it in a draught, and that’s what brought on the fever.” Granny Liu replied, “Missy probably isn’t used to the garden—it’s a strange place, and small children shouldn’t go there. Not like our children—once they can walk, they’ll run into any old graveyard. It may be the wind, but it might also be that she’s pure and has sharp eyes, and perhaps ran into some spirit. If I were you, I’d look up the almanac of exorcisms and see if she’s run into a ghost.” This reminded Xifeng, who called Pinger to bring out the Jade Box Almanac and had Caiming read it. Caiming turned the pages and read: “On the twenty‑fifth of the eighth month, the patient encountered the Flower Spirit in the southeast. Use forty sheets of five‑coloured spirit money, carry them forty paces to the southeast and send them off—great good fortune.” Xifeng laughed, “Right you are—in the garden, isn’t there a Flower Spirit? I daresay the Old Lady met her too.” She ordered two lots of spirit money prepared and sent two people—one to exorcise for Grandmother Jia, one for little大姐儿. Sure enough, the child slept peacefully afterwards.
Xifeng said, “It’s true that age brings experience. My little girl is often ill, and I never know why.” Granny Liu said, “That’s common enough. Children of wealthy families are raised too tenderly, so they can’t bear the least discomfort. Besides, if a child is overly honoured, it may not be able to bear that either. If you, young mistress, would dote on her a little less, she’d be better.” Xifeng replied, “That makes sense. It occurs to me—she still hasn’t got a formal name. Would you give her one? First, to borrow some of your long life; second, since you are country folk—don’t be offended—but poverty does have its virtues; a name from a poor person may have the power to protect her.” Granny Liu thought for a moment and asked, “When was she born?” Xifeng said, “Her birthday is unlucky, as it happens—the seventh day of the seventh month.” Granny Liu quickly laughed, “That’s perfect—call her ‘Qiaojie’ (Clever Girl). This is the method of ‘fighting poison with poison, fire with fire.’ If you’ll heed my name, she’ll live to a hundred. When she grows up and marries, if ever she meets with trouble, it will turn to good fortune, and all because of this character qiao (clever/opportune).”
Xifeng was naturally pleased and thanked her, adding, “May it only come true as you say.” She then called Pinger and instructed, “We’ll be busy tomorrow, so take this chance to pack up the things for Granny Liu—she’ll be leaving early in the morning.” Granny Liu demurred, “Please don’t go to any more expense. I’ve already imposed on you for days, and to carry things away would make me even more uneasy.” Xifeng said, “It’s nothing much, just ordinary stuff. Good or bad, take it along—your neighbours will see you’ve been to the city and you’ll have something to show for it.” Just then Pinger came over and said, “Granny, come this way and have a look.”
Granny Liu followed Pinger to the other room, where half the kang was piled with things. Pinger showed her each item: “Here’s the green gauze you asked for yesterday, and our mistress is giving you an extra plain moon‑white gauze for lining. These two bolts of pongee are good for jackets or skirts. In this bundle are two bolts of silk for New Year clothes. This box contains all kinds of palace pastries—some you’ve tasted, some you haven’t—take them to offer guests, they’re better than what you can buy. These two sacks are the ones you brought your melons and fruits in; now one has two pecks of imperial rice—excellent for porridge—and the other has garden fruits and assorted dried fruit. This packet is eight taels of silver, from our mistress. These two packets are fifty taels each—one hundred in all—from Her Ladyship, for you to start a small business or buy a few acres of land, so you won’t have to rely on relatives or friends.” Then she lowered her voice and smiled: “These two jackets and two skirts, four head‑wraps, and a bundle of woollen thread are my own gift. The clothes are old, but I haven’t worn them much; if you scorn them, I won’t insist.” As Pinger named each item, Granny Liu murmured a Buddhist prayer—she must have recited several thousand by now. Seeing that Pinger was also giving gifts and speaking so modestly, she said, “What are you saying, miss? How could I scorn such fine things? Even if I had money, I couldn’t buy them anywhere. I feel so embarrassed—if I accept, it’s awkward, but if I refuse, I’d be ungrateful.” Pinger laughed, “Don’t talk like that. I consider us friends, that’s why I give them. Keep them with ease—I’ll ask something of you in return. At New Year, just bring us some of your sun‑dried grey‑green vegetable strips, and dried beans, eggplant, and gourd strips—everyone here loves them. That will be repayment enough; don’t bother with anything else.” Granny Liu agreed with endless thanks. Pinger said, “You go to bed now. I’ll pack everything properly and leave it here; tomorrow at dawn I’ll have the lads hire a cart and load it up—you needn’t lift a finger.”
Granny Liu was overcome with gratitude. She went back to thank Xifeng again, then spent the night in Grandmother Jia’s quarters. The next morning, after washing and combing, she prepared to take her leave. Because Jia was unwell, everyone came to pay their morning respects, and they sent for a doctor. Soon a serving woman announced the doctor’s arrival. The old nurses asked Jia to retire behind the curtain, but Jia said, “I’m old enough—what have I to hide that I can’t show? No curtains—let him see me as I am.” So they placed a small table and a little pillow, and summoned the physician.
Presently Jia Zhen, Jia Lian, and Jia Rong led in Dr. Wang. The doctor did not dare walk the main path but took the side steps, following Jia Zhen to the terrace. Two serving women lifted the portières, two others guided him in, and Baoyu came out to meet him. Jia was seated on the couch, wearing a dark‑green sheepskin jacket with pearl‑like curls, flanked by four young maids with fly‑whisks and spittoons, and five or six old nurses arranged like wild geese on either side; behind the green‑gauze screen, many figures in red and green, with pearls and hairpins, could be glimpsed. Dr. Wang kept his eyes lowered, stepped forward, and made his obeisance. Seeing his official rank of the sixth grade, Jia knew he was an imperial physician, and said with a smile, “How do you do, Doctor?” Then she asked Jia Zhen, “What is the doctor’s surname?” “Wang,” they replied. Jia said, “The former director of the Imperial Medical College, Wang Junxiao, was very skilled in pulse‑taking.” Dr. Wang bowed and smiled, “That was my grand‑uncle.” Jia said, “Ah, then it’s an old family connection.” As she spoke, she slowly extended her hand onto the little pillow. An old nurse placed a small stool beside the table, slightly askew. Dr. Wang knelt on one knee, tilted his head, and felt her pulse for a long while, then felt the other hand, rose, bowed, and withdrew. Jia said, “Thank you for your trouble. Zhen’er, see him out and serve him good tea.”
Jia Zhen and the others led Dr. Wang to the outer study. The doctor said, “The Lady Dowager has no serious illness—just a slight chill. She doesn’t really need medicine; just light food and warmth will set her right. I’ll write a prescription, and if she feels like it, she can take one dose; if not, let it be.” After tea and the prescription, he was about to leave when the wet‑nurse brought out little大姐儿 and said, “Please look at our little miss too, Doctor.” Dr. Wang rose, took the child’s hand from the nurse, felt her pulse with his right hand, touched her head, and asked to see her tongue. Then he smiled, “I was going to scold missy, but all she needs is to go hungry for two meals and keep quiet. No need for decoctions—I’ll send some pills; take them with ginger water before sleep, and she’ll be fine.” With that he took his leave.
Jia Zhen brought the prescriptions back, reported the diagnosis to Jia, placed the papers on the table, and left. Lady Wang, Li Wan, Xifeng, Baochai, and the others, who had been behind the screen, now came out. Lady Wang sat a while and then returned to her own rooms.
When Granny Liu saw that all was calm, she came forward to bid farewell to Grandmother Jia. Jia said, “Come again when you have leisure,” and told Yuanyang, “See Granny Liu out properly. I’m not well enough to see her off myself.” Granny Liu thanked her and took her leave, going out with Yuanyang. In the servants’ quarters, Yuanyang pointed to a bundle on the kang: “These are some clothes from the Old Lady—gifts she received on birthdays and holidays over the years. She never wears things made by others, and it would be a pity to leave them unused; she’s never worn them once. Yesterday she told me to pick out two sets for you to take—you can give them away or wear them at home; don’t laugh at them. This box has the pastries you asked for. This packet has the medicines you mentioned the other day—Plum‑Blossom Tongue‑Dot pills, Purple‑Gold lozenges, Joint‑Freeing pills, and Childbirth‑Protection pills—each with its own directions, all wrapped together. These two sachets are for you to play with.” She opened the drawstrings and took out two little gold ingots in the shape of brushes and ingots to show her, then laughed, “You can have the sachets, but leave these gold pieces for me.” Granny Liu, already overjoyed and muttering prayers again, said, “Please keep them, miss.” Seeing she took it seriously, Yuanyang put them back inside and laughed, “I was teasing you—I have plenty. Keep them for the children at New Year.” Just then a little maid brought an Cheng‑ware teacup to Granny Liu, saying, “Master Bao sends this to you.” Granny Liu exclaimed, “Why, what a kindness! In what former life did I earn such blessings today?” and accepted it. Yuanyang said, “The other day when I told you to bathe and gave you a change of clothes—those were mine. If you don’t mind, I have a few more to give you.” Granny Liu thanked her again. Yuanyang produced two more garments and wrapped them up. Granny Liu wanted to go into the garden to thank Baoyu and the sisters, but Yuanyang said, “No need—they’re not seeing anyone now. I’ll tell them for you later. Come again when you have time.” She called an old woman and told her, “Go to the second gate and get two lads to help carry Granny Liu’s things out.” The woman assented, went with Granny Liu to Xifeng’s quarters, collected everything, and had the lads carry it all to the side gate, putting Granny Liu into her cart. And so she left.
Now Baochai and the others, after breakfast, had gone to pay their respects to Grandmother Jia. As they parted at the fork in the garden path, Baochai called to Daiyu, “Come with me, Frowner—I have something to ask you.” Daiyu followed her to Hengwu Court. Once inside, Baochai sat down and said, “Kneel down—I’m going to interrogate you.” Daiyu, mystified, laughed, “Look at this crazy girl—what are you cross‑examining me about?” Baochai said with a cold smile, “What a fine noble lady! What a well‑brought‑up maiden! What kind of talk was that you let slip yesterday? Own up, and I’ll let you off.” Daiyu was baffled and only laughed, but her heart began to stir with suspicion. “What did I say?” she protested. “You’re just trying to find fault with me. If you’ve got something, say it outright.” Baochai laughed, “Still playing dumb? What was that line in the drinking game yesterday? I’d never heard it before—where did you pick it up?” Daiyu suddenly remembered—she had carelessly quoted two lines from The Peony Pavilion and The Romance of the Western Chamber. She blushed deeply, went over and put her arms around Baochai, begging, “Dear sister, I didn’t know what I was saying—it just slipped out. Teach me better, and I’ll never do it again.” Baochai teased, “I don’t know it myself—it sounded so strange, I had to ask you.” Daiyu pleaded, “Please don’t tell anyone—I promise I won’t say such things again.” Seeing her crimson with shame and earnest in her entreaties, Baochai stopped pressing her. She made her sit down and drink tea, then spoke gently: “Who do you think I am? I was a little mischief‑maker too. From the age of seven or eight I was quite a handful. Our family was considered a scholarly one—my grandfather loved collecting books. In those days there were many of us—brothers and sisters all together—and we all avoided the ‘proper’ texts. The boys loved poetry and song lyrics, and we had everything—Western Chamber, Pipa, and the Hundred Yuan Plays. They stole them to read, and we stole them too. When the elders found out, some were beaten, some scolded, some books were burned—and we gave it up. So for us girls, it’s better not to know how to read at all. If men read and don’t learn sense, they’re worse off than if they’d remained illiterate—let alone you and me. Even poetry and calligraphy are not truly our business, nor even a man’s first concern. For men, reading should lead to understanding and serving the state and the people—that would be good. But nowadays I don’t hear of such men; reading only makes them worse. It’s a pity—the books have misled them, and they’ve desecrated the books. So better to farm or trade—at least no great harm. We women ought to stick to needlework and spinning. Yet we’ve learned to read; and since we have, we should only choose proper books. The danger is in reading frivolous tales—they can warp one’s nature, and then there’s no cure.” Daiyu listened, hanging her head and sipping tea, silently convinced, only murmuring “Yes.”
Just then Suyun entered and announced, “Our mistress invites you two to discuss something important. Second Miss, Third Miss, Fourth Miss, Miss Shi, and Master Bao are all waiting.” Baochai asked, “What now?” Daiyu said, “We’ll know when we get there.” So they went together to Rice‑scent Village, where indeed everyone was assembled.
When Li Wan saw them, she laughed, “We haven’t even started our club, and already someone’s playing truant. Fourth Miss wants a whole year’s leave.” Daiyu laughed, “It’s all because of the Old Lady’s words yesterday—she told her to paint a picture of the garden, so of course she’s happy to ask for leave.” Tanchun said, “Don’t blame the Old Lady—it was all Granny Liu’s doing.” Daiyu quickly said, “Exactly—it was her words. What kind of ‘Granny’ is she, anyway? Just call her ‘Mother Locust’!” Everyone laughed. Baochai said, “The world’s wit ends with Xifeng—luckily she’s illiterate and mostly just makes vulgar jokes. But Frowner here has that sharp tongue of hers; she takes common coarse talk, extracts the essence, cuts the excess, and dresses it up in metaphor—every word hits home. That ‘Mother Locust’ perfectly captures all of yesterday’s scenes. What a quick mind!” They all said, “Your commentary is no less brilliant than hers.” Li Wan said, “I asked you all to discuss how many days’ leave to give her. I offered a month, but she said it’s too little—what do you say?” Daiyu said, “A year wouldn’t be too much, really. It took a year to build the garden—to paint it properly should take two. There’s grinding ink, wetting brushes, spreading paper, mixing colours, and…” Knowing she was teasing Xichun, they all asked, “And what else?” Daiyu herself couldn’t help laughing: “And then painting slowly, stroke by stroke—so yes, two years at least!” They clapped and laughed. Baochai said, “That last line—‘painting slowly’—is the best. Yesterday’s jokes were funny at the time, but on reflection they lose flavour. Frowner’s light words, though, have lasting relish—I can’t stop laughing.” Xichun pouted, “It’s all because Sister Baochai praises her, making her more brazen—now she’s making fun of me.” Daiyu pulled her and asked, “Let me ask you—are you going to paint just the garden, or include all of us?” Xichun said, “Originally just the garden, but yesterday the Old Lady said a garden alone would look like an architect’s plan; she wants people in it, like a ‘pleasure‑portrait.’ But I’m no good at fine architecture or figures, and I can’t refuse—that’s my problem.” Daiyu said, “Figures are easy enough, but you can’t do grass‑and‑insects.” Li Wan said, “Now you’re talking nonsense—where would grass‑and‑insects be needed? Birds maybe, a touch.” Daiyu laughed, “I don’t care about other bugs—but if you leave out the ‘Mother Locust,’ won’t it miss an allusion?” More laughter. Daiyu clasped her chest and laughed, “Hurry up and paint—I’ve already got the colophon: call it ‘The Great Locust Feast.’” At this they all roared, rocking back and forth. Suddenly thump—something fell. They looked and saw Xiangyun, who had been leaning on the back of her chair, laughing so hard that she lost balance—the chair tipped and she tumbled sideways, fortunately caught by the wall panel. Seeing that made them laugh even more. Baoyu hurried to help her up, and gradually they calmed down. Baoyu exchanged a look with Daiyu; she understood, went into the inner room, lifted the mirror‑cover, and saw her hair slightly loose. She opened Li Wan’s dressing‑case, took out a fine‑tooth comb, smoothed her temples, put everything back, and came out, pointing at Li Wan: “This is what you call leading us in needlework and morals—instead you bring us here for this riotous laughter!” Li Wan retorted, “Listen to her cunning tongue! She leads the fun, makes everyone laugh, and then blames me. I hope you get a fierce mother‑in‑law and a pack of terrible sisters‑in‑law to try your sharp tongue on!” Daiyu blushed, pulled Baochai, and said, “Let’s give her a year’s leave.” Baochai said, “Let me speak fairly. Fourth Miss can paint a little in the free‑sketch style, but to paint this garden, one needs real landscape mastery. The garden itself is like a painting—hills, rocks, trees, pavilions, distances, densities—just right. If you copy it mechanically, it won’t work. You have to consider the paper’s proportions, add or subtract, foreground and background, conceal and reveal. Only after a careful draft can you finalise the composition. Second, the buildings must be drawn with ruled lines—one slip, and railings tilt, pillars cave, doors invert, stairs separate, tables squeeze into walls, flowerpots sit on curtains—a joke of a picture. Third, figures must be placed with density and height; folds of clothing, belts, hands, feet—every detail matters; a slip and you get swollen hands or crippled legs. Face‑painting and hair‑rendering are minor. In my view, it’s extremely difficult. A year is too much, a month too little—give her half a year, and let Baoyu help her—not to teach her, that would waste time, but to take questions to experts outside when he encounters difficulties.”
Baoyu was delighted: “Well said! Zhan Ziliang is excellent at fine‑detailed buildings, and Cheng Rixing’s beauties are superb—I’ll go ask them.” Baochai said, “You’re always in a rush—wait till we decide. First, what paper will you use?” Baoyu said, “We have snow‑wave paper—large and ink‑absorbent.” Baochai scoffed, “I knew you were useless! Snow‑wave is for calligraphy or free‑sketch landscape—southern style, good for rubbing. Using it for this—it won’t take colour well, won’t wash, the painting will be poor and the paper wasted. I’ll tell you a method. When the garden was built, there was a detailed plan—though drawn by craftsmen, the layout is accurate. Ask Her Ladyship for it, get a piece of heavy silk from Xifeng the same size, have it sized with alum, and have a painter adapt the plan, adding figures. For the green and blue mineral colours and gold and silver powders, they’ll have to prepare them. You’ll need a separate stove for melting glue, washing brushes, a large lacquered table with a felt cover. Your dishes and brushes are insufficient—you’ll have to buy new ones.” Xichun said, “I never had proper painting tools—just casual brushes for writing and a few colours—ochre, indigo, gamboge, and rouge, plus two colouring brushes.” Baochai said, “You should have said so. I have some, but you don’t need them, and they’d just sit idle. I’ll keep them for you until you need them, but only for fan‑painting—for a big scroll it’d be a waste. I’ll write you a list, and you can ask the Old Lady for these items. You may not know all the names, so I’ll dictate and Baoyu will write.” Baoyu had already prepared brush and ink, wanting to note things down; he eagerly listened. Baochai recited: “Four No.1 round brushes, four No.2, four No.3; four large wash‑brushes, four medium, four small; ten large ‘south‑crab‑claw’ brushes, ten small; ten eyebrow‑and‑beard brushes; twenty large colouring brushes, twenty small; ten face‑defining brushes; twenty willow‑charcoal sticks; four liang of cinnabar red, four of ochre, four of orpiment, four of azurite, four of malachite, four of tube‑yellow, eight of indigo, four boxes of powdered clam‑white, ten sheets of rouge; two hundred sheets of red gold leaf, two hundred of green gold; four liang of wide‑grain glue, four of pure alum (alum for silk sizing separate—just give the silk to be sized). For the colours, we’ll grind, wash, settle, and float them—it’s fun and practical, and will last a lifetime. Also four fine silk sieves, four coarse, four brush‑holders, four mortar‑and‑pestle sets of various sizes, twenty large coarse bowls, ten five‑inch coarse dishes, twenty three‑inch white dishes, two stoves, four clay pots (large and small), two new porcelain jars, four new buckets, four one‑foot‑long white cloth bags, twenty catties of charcoal, one catty of willow‑wood charcoal, one three‑drawer wooden chest, one zhang of plain gauze, two liang of ginger, half a catty of soy sauce.” Daiyu interrupted, “An iron wok and a spatula too.” Baochai asked, “What for?” Daiyu laughed, “You asked for ginger and soy sauce—I’m getting you the wok to stir‑fry the colours!” Everyone laughed. Baochai explained, “You don’t know—coarse dishes may need baking over fire; without a coat of ginger juice and soy sauce on the bottom, they’ll crack.” They all said, “I see.”
Daiyu looked over the list and whispered to Tanchun, “Look at this—painting a picture needs water vats and boxes too. She must be confused and written her trousseau list by mistake.” Tanchun giggled and said, “Sister Baochai, pinch her mouth—listen to the slander!” Baochai came over, pinned Daiyu down, and threatened to pinch her cheeks. Daiyu begged for mercy: “Dear sister, forgive me! I’m young and foolish, I talk without thinking—you, as my elder, should teach me. If you don’t forgive me, whom can I turn to?” The others, not catching the allusion, said, “She sounds so pitiful—even we soften—let her off.” Baochai, who had only been playing, heard Daiyu allude to the book‑reading incident and stopped the horseplay, letting her up. Daiyu said, “You’re so generous, sister—if it were me, I wouldn’t let anyone off.” Baochai pointed at her and laughed, “No wonder the Old Lady dotes on you and everyone loves your wit—today I’m fond of you too. Come here, let me tidy your hair.” Daiyu turned around, and Baochai smoothed her locks. Baoyu watched and thought it lovely, regretting he hadn’t kept his own hair loose so she could fix his too. While he was musing, Baochai said, “The list is done. Present it to the Old Lady tomorrow. If we have them at home, good; if not, buy them. I’ll help you prepare.” Baoyu put away the list.
They chatted a while longer. After dinner they went to pay respects to Grandmother Jia. Her ailment was not serious—just fatigue and a slight chill—and after a day’s rest and a dose of medicine to dispel the cold, she was much better by evening. What happened the next day, you will hear in the following chapter.
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